Page 138 of Renard's Deliverance

* * *

Smack!

She jumped as the ruler landed on the palm of his hand.

“Well, missy, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Um, what would you like me to say, Sir?” she squeaked.

Her heart was racing, her stomach tight with anticipation and nerves. Was this what she’d wanted?

It more than she’d ever thought possible. From the start of their scene, he’d taken complete control. Renard had thrown himself into the role of a strict principal who was disciplining a naughty schoolgirl.

“What would I like you to say?” he thundered. “I would like you to tell me what you thought you were doing kissing that boy behind the bike shed.”

Ooh.

That did sound naughty.

“It wasn’t really kissing, Sir,” she told him.

She was aware of people watching them, but she didn’t care. Because the only person who really existed right now was Renard.

“He had his hand up your skirt, missy!”

Opal pouted. “I know and you caught us before he could get to the good stuff.”

Slap!

Wow. That sound made her jump again. What would it feel like against her skin?

They’d spoken a lot around her limits and what she wanted from this scene. So she knew that he could choose to use the ruler, his hand, or a paddle. She just didn’t know what.

Which definitely added to the excitement.

“The good stuff? Do you think that naughty girls like you deserve the good stuff?”

“Yeah. I think we do.”

“And did you get wet for him, missy?” Renard asked, moving around the desk to stand behind her.

She turned, but he shook his head. “No. You face the other way. You need to face the consequences of your actions.”

Another shiver.

It was so much easier for her to let go when she was roleplaying. When she became someone else,hisvoice didn’t infiltrate her head constantly.

She could let go.

And, apparently, the more she trusted the person taking control, the more she could lose herself in the moment.

“Bend over the desk. Hands in front of you. Do not move them.”

Another shudder, but she moved quickly into place. He flicked up her pleated, tartan skirt. Underneath she wore a pair of lacy black panties. Her shirt was tied at the front and most of the buttons were open.

“What are these?” he demanded. “These are not standard issue panties.”

“They’re ugly, Sir. Like granny panties. I like these ones.”

---